Nobody Can Quite Put Two and Two Together
by burningnostalgia
Summary: Racetrack/Boomer, Athena. "But at least someone remembers."


**Title: **Nobody Can Quite Put Two and Two Together (But At Least Someone Remembers)  
**Fandom: **Battlestar Galactica  
**Pairing: **Racetrack/Boomer, Athena  
**Notes: **For **oxoniensis**'s Fall Fandom Free-for-All on LJ.

She doesn't quite understand these compound-word callsigns. Seriously. Racetrack and Starbuck and Crashdown and Showboat and—what the frak? Maybe somehow they do make sense, but it seems to be that most of the people in the Colonial Fleet have absolutely zero creativity. Not that she doesn't like her callsign, no, because it's pretty cool and makes her sound kinda tough, but Seelix got pegged with Hardball and that just sounds so much more badass. Even though Seelix is a complete sissy and she can totally take her on in a fistfight, if the need arises.

Because for all the frakking around and macho-posturing when they unwind after a hard day, Racetrack's certain that most of these pilots aren't actually what they're advertised. Maybe someone packaged them wrong in the delivery line, but the label on the box and what's actually in the box don't match.

Unless you count Starbuck. But then, Starbuck's insane. And sometimes that's what it takes to earn respect around here, now that the Colonies are blown into bits and everything they do is just a formality.

When the pilots climb into their birds, Racetrack's always the last one out. She doesn't quite trust anybody to watch her back. Not specifically, at least. Everyone knows Crashdown always choked at the last minute (which is why he's dead while the rest that went down in Kobol are still pretty much alive and kicking), knows that Apollo's firmly wrapped around Starbuck's pinky finger like some overeager puppy—and that's just well and good because they don't know _anything_ about her.

She wouldn't let them get close enough to find anything out.

So while everyone makes cracks about her practically drooling whenever Helo saunters by, it isn't Helo she's staring at now. She'll admit, Helo's arms are _very_ nice and that little quirk at the corner of his lip when he sucks on one of those lollipops (where _does_ he get those?) is adorable, most of the time. But Helo's got nothing on Sharon.

Not Boomer, she corrects herself—no, it's Athena now. Athena the goddess of wisdom, Athena the patron of heroes—which sounds a lot more dignified and noble than Boomer. But it's quite unfair comparing the two because people forget that there was another Sharon before this one, and Racetrack thinks that's the worst kind of disrespect. Sure, she shot the Old Man and Cally returned the favor (Racetrack's never forgiven her for that, even though the rest of the crew seemed to shrug it off pretty quickly), but she was one of them, one of the pilots. Must've been some fancy Cylon programming that forced her to do it, because Racetrack _knows_ Boomer, knows she'd never hurt the Old Man. And while Racetrack's not quite sure how that adds up in their ragtag little band, she does know that they always stick together.

At least they used to, Cylons be damned.

Now, Apollo's off being Mister Leland Adama, playing house with the President on Colonial One. Starbuck, who was already insane to begin with, is even more barking mad, yelling about Earth and _we're going the wrong way!_ while all Racetrack can do is roll her eyes and throw in a few more credits onto the growing pile—credits that aren't worth anything, but it's not like they have something else to bet with.

Sharon—Athena—catches her eye from across the table, flashes this tiny grin at her, and suddenly Racetrack's curious. She remembers the last time in the mess hall when they gave Sharon her new callsign, remembers that very same grin when she called her Boomer—the first and last time that ever happened. She opens her mouth to say something, to ask a question, but then Seelix starts yammering about Starbuck being a Cylon and Racetrack's just about had enough of that (should'a called her Hardass instead), so she decides that maybe it's time to leave.

It's blessedly quiet out in the hallway, the sounds of half-drunk pilots easily muffled by the heavy bulkhead, that Racetrack can hear footsteps following her from behind. She turns around and it's Sharon, standing there in the harsh lighting. Racetrack doesn't really know what to say now, without the comfort of some-dozen garbled voices in her ear, but Sharon seems to understand.

"I remember," she says, still with that little grin. "I may not be her, but I remember."

And _now_ Racetrack gets it. Those gentle nudges on her shoulder whenever they pass each other by, the way Athena almost always picks out a spot right beside Racetrack in the ready room, and that _look_ in Athena's eye when Racetrack slides into the Raptor and settles down in the ECO seat because, _damn_, Racetrack will never forget that one night Boomer helped her test the soundproofing.

Never.

And the others wonder why that particular Raptor is special to her.

_Let them wonder_, she thinks as Athena draws closer, wraps her arms around Racetrack in a tight hug that has her returning it (and Racetrack doesn't hug, but she'll make an exception just this once). She buries her face into the curve of Athena's shoulder and realizes that, sure, they do look practically identical, but Athena isn't Boomer. Boomer smells just a little earthier, like wet grass and faint sunshine, while Athena's spicier and almost peppery. Athena isn't _her _Boomer. (Because she was before Chief. _Way_ before.)

So when Athena kisses her chastely on the lips, whispers her name—Margaret, not Racetrack—before she breaks away, Racetrack doesn't hold on but lets Athena go, smiles softly as Athena walks away. Back to the rec room. Back to Helo.

Helo's lucky he grabbed Athena early, because if Racetrack had any say in the matter, she would've gotten there first. But she doesn't mind so much now. Not really—not anymore, at least. Because Athena remembers, knows her by name and not by the callsign that doesn't even fit her right, and that?

That's good enough for her.

-end-


End file.
